


Hard Times

by CC (ccwriter)



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-06-01
Updated: 2003-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-02 22:46:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ccwriter/pseuds/CC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starsky and Hutch face financial hardships as differently as one might expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard Times

**Author's Note:**

> This story is intended to be the first in a series exploring what Starsky &amp; Hutch might get up to if they couldn't be cops for a while. So far, the series hasn't materialized (although I'm still hopeful.) Not to worry, this story stands on its own.

It was a toss-up as to which would push him over the edge first: the spastic pencil-tapping against the table or the angst-laden sighs being expelled at an alarmingly increasing rate. He needed a diversion and he needed it soon; otherwise, he would have to find somewhere to dispose of Hutch's body.

Starsky shifted in his chair and silently cursed the unknown bureaucrats responsible for his predicament. Faced with a severe budget crunch, the city was forced to furlough almost a hundred police officers. The detective division had taken the hardest hit and by the time all of the seniority shifting was complete, Starsky and Hutch found themselves on the wrong side of the cut. They'd been handed their layoff packets at the end of their Friday shift.

Though stunned at first, Starsky quickly saw the advantage of a few work-free summer weeks. Hutch, to Starsky's surprise, went straight into worry overdrive. The first twelve hours had been manageable because they had slept the majority of the time away, but the last twelve hours had gone from uncomfortable to unendurable when Hutch found an article on household spending in the daily paper. He'd spent the morning Clipping Coupons for Quick Cash Savings and was now scrutinizing their bank accounts for Cash That May Be Hiding in Plain Sight. Starsky had already read the article and knew that Reducing the Cash Drain of an Impractical Automobile loomed somewhere in the near future if he didn't get Hutch turned around.

"Hey, Hutch, wanna hear your horoscope?" Starsky paused a millisecond before continuing. "'Recent financial downturns are not as bad as you once feared. Try as you might, even you will not be able to direct the course of events. Remain open to all the possibilities that the day brings; you may be surprised by the way things turn out.' Interesting, huh?"

With the newspaper screening his view, Starsky was unprepared for the hand that suddenly held his wrist in a vise-like grip. "You expect me to believe that? Show me."

"Ow! Let go and I will." After strategically positioning his thumb, Starsky carefully turned the corner of the newspaper around for Hutch's review. "See? Right there. Ow!"

"Move your thumb, moron. Nice try; that’s Libra."

"Well it's not my fault this one suited you better." Starsky wiggled his thumb. "I think you sprained it."

"You big baby. Go put some ice on it if it hurts that bad."

Starsky went to the refrigerator, opting for a beer instead of ice. When another long-suffering exhalation followed the snap of the pop-top, Starsky spun around and pointed a threatening finger at his partner. "If you wanna be wearing that pencil up your nose, make that noise again."

Innocent saucer-eyes looked up. "What noise?"

"That 'God-save-me-from-fools-and-Starsky' noise, that's what." Starsky sat down again, putting his feet up on the corner of the table. "I'm not the only one who buys things, you know."

"Starsky, I never said you were. All I said was we've got to watch what we spend from now on."

"Yeah, and you're acting like it's forever. Dobey said he'd have us back on duty in a month. We can do a month, Hutch."

Hutch began another sigh that quickly turned into a cough when Starsky shifted around in his seat and eyeballed the pencil.

"Dobey said he'd *try* to have us back on in a month. If he doesn't, we're in trouble. We've got to tighten our belts, Starsk." Hutch held up Starsky's checkbook for emphasis. "It's unbelievable how much money you waste."

"Gimme that!" Starsky snatched the checkbook away and glared at it. "I don't see any 'waste' in here."

"What about that thirty dollars you spent at the book store last week?" Hutch pointed out the offending entry.

"So?"

"There's a library around the corner."

"Lookit, I don't know who died and made you E.F. Hutton, but if you'd care to remember, you read those books, too, so it's really more like we each spent fifteen dollars on books." Starsky fixed Hutch in place with a so-there look and took another sip of beer. "Besides, I seem to recall that you blew twenty bucks at the nursery just yesterday. You don't hear me bitchin' about that, do you?"

"I bought only what was necessary to plant a vegetable garden, Starsk. We'll make the twenty back and then some on what we save in groceries."

"Hutch, you spent three dollars on vegetable seeds and fifteen dollars on some fancy Japanese pruning shears." As Hutch opened his mouth to retort, Starsky pointed at him again. "And don't tell me you needed them. You've got three pairs of shears in the drawer of that table out there."

"It's not a table; it's a potting bench," Hutch mumbled defensively and then froze.

A knowing smile slowly inched across Starsky's face. "Oh yeah," he said. "Your hundred dollar *imported* potting bench. Just like the one the Queen Mother's gardener uses at Windsor Castle. Hell, we could have *built* a potting bench from that stack of lumber--" Too late, Starsky realized his error.

As expected, Hutch pounced. "Which stack of lumber is that, Starsk? Would that be the lumber you bought to build a doghouse? Along with the new drill you just had to have for the project, too? You spent almost a hundred dollars and we don't even have a dog."

Starsky pretended to study his fingernails while he searched for an out. The lumber had been a mistake, but he'd had to buy it to justify the drill. When Hutch had questioned the wisdom of his purchase, 'doghouse' was the only word that had come to Starsky's mind. Damn, he thought, Hutch doesn't miss anything. Why'd he have to have a brain under that blond hair?

And then he had it: the one expense guaranteed to shut Hutch up, at least for the night.

With an exaggerated sigh, Starsky slowly rose to his feet, his hands raised in mock surrender. He eased around the table to stand behind Hutch, gently placing his hands on the knotted shoulders in front of him. "Know what? You're right. I shouldn't have bought that lumber. Especially considering that we don't have a dog."

After a suspicious glance at his partner, Hutch nodded sagely. Starsky knew he was itching to celebrate the victory but wouldn't say anything that might stop the hands massaging his shoulders. Starsky moved one hand to alternately knead and rub the tendons in Hutch's neck, and with his other hand, he began to massage the back of Hutch's scalp, twining his fingers through the fine, blond hair. The tension in Hutch's neck was real, and Starsky felt a little guilty for what he was about to do. But only a little, because Hutch really did have it coming.

After working in silence for a few minutes, Starsky moved both hands to Hutch's temples, caressing lightly before moving on to smoothly stroke Hutch's forehead. He started at the eyebrows and began slowly working his way up. "Hutch?"

"Hmm?"

"Forgive me?"

"Mmmm."

"I really feel bad." Starsky's hands smoothed Hutch's bangs to the side. "We work so hard for our money, and then I go and waste it on something stupid."

"Starsk, don't be so hard on yourself. I'm sure you didn't mean to be wasteful. Stick with me and you'll learn a lot about being frugal." Hutch closed his eyes, apparently lost under the spell of the gentle caresses bestowed upon him and the knowledge that he'd been right. Starsky had him right where he wanted him.

"Yeah, I guess, but when I think about what else we could have done with that money..."

"Like what?" Hutch mumbled, oblivious to all but the soothing attentions of Starsky's hands.

"Well for one thing..." Starsky continued to stroke Hutch's hair, but quietly shifted his body back a step before leaning down to whisper in Hutch's ear. "Maybe you could have used it on another one of those 'Hair Club for Men' treatments. Although you spent fifty bucks on the other ones, and you still have bald spots big enough to hold your vegetable gard--"

With the benefit of the step back, Starsky easily avoided being slammed by the chair as it was pushed abruptly back from the table. By the time Hutch grabbed his jacket and stormed out the front door, Starsky was laughing so hard he almost missed his partner's middle finger farewell. When he'd calmed down enough to breathe normally, Starsky grabbed the phone and dialed a number from memory. "Call me when he gets there."

"Will do. How mad is he?" Huggy asked.

Starsky snorted. "Better wait until after he's had a couple before you call me."

After returning the phone to its cradle, Starsky propped his feet on the kitchen table and snapped the newspaper open again. This unplanned summer vacation could turn out to be fun after all.

# # #

The Pits was not yet at its full Saturday night elbow-to-elbow capacity. Starsky found Huggy at the bar, polishing glasses in anticipation of the crowd to come. Upon seeing Starsky enter the room, Huggy hitched his chin to the right and rolled his eyes in the direction of the far corner booth where Hutch sat scribbling furiously on paper napkins. Starsky wavered only a second before stopping at the bar for a mug of liquid courage.

"What it is..." Huggy placed a frosty mug of beer on the bar as Starsky plopped onto the barstool in front of him.

"You tell me." Starsky downed a healthy swig and then stole a glance at the back booth.

Huggy leaned forward conspiratorially. "Well, from what I have deduced, Mr. Morose back there is undergoing some serious financial difficulties--or thinks he is anyway--and he's developing an 'action plan' to fix them. Now, I haven't exactly determined what an 'action plan' is yet, but it's four napkins long and the dude's still going. What's his problem?"

"Ah, we got caught up in the Department furlough."

"BC's finest off the streets? I don't like the sound of that." Huggy looked sincerely troubled.

"Thanks, Hug, but Dobey said the mayor is going to Sacramento on Monday to lobby for some kind of emergency support from the state. He said if it goes through, we should be back on the street in a month."

"What's that got to do with all the cipherin' going on back there?" Hutch asked, nodding to the far booth. "You guys are okay, right? Financially-speaking, that is."

"I think we are, Hug, but Hutch is all freaked out about it." Starsky drained his mug. "I'd better get back there before he decides my life insurance payoff is his only chance for survival."

Huggy pushed two more beers across the bar. "Here, my man, take this. He was pretty steamed when he came in. Better if you show up with a peace offering."

Starsky grinned. "Not a bad idea at all. Wish me luck." He took a deep breath before sauntering over to the far corner booth. Careful not to dislodge the pile of plans, he slid a mug across the table.

"Greetings and salivations.”

Hutch grunted, but he accepted the beer. "Great. The prodigal asshole returns." After a healthy drink from the mug, he returned to his scribbling.

"Ah, c'mon, Hutch. You know I was only joking."

"About what?" Hutch asked, engrossed in his task.

"About the...you know..." Starsk glanced around to ensure privacy and lowered his voice before continuing, "the hair club thing."

Hutch grunted again, waving off Starsky's apology. "I don't have time to worry about your lame attempts at humor."

Starsky sat back and sipped his beer. Hutch reminded him of a snapping turtle sometimes: once he dug his teeth into something, he didn't let go until satisfied the thing was no longer a threat. The same unyielding determination that made Hutch such a great cop--it had saved Starsky's hide on more than one occasion--was exasperating when it spilled over into their personal lives. If Starsky had learned anything over the last year, it was that loving Hutch was easy; living with him was another matter entirely.

"C'mon, things just aren't that bad." Starsky reached across the table and patted Hutch's hand, interrupting the frantic scribbling. "Trust me."

Hutch sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward. "Starsky..."

"Don't 'Starsky' me. And you're doing that noise again. We're doing okay here. There's no need for all this..." Starsky waved his hand over the napkins scattered all over the table. Hutch took a deep breath, obviously fighting his temper. Starsky tried again. "Look, Hutch, I don't want to be poor either, but--"

"*Want* to be?" Hutch scoffed. "Starsky, we're already poor. We're headed toward destitute."

"We are not poor. We just don't have any money. There's a difference."

Having raised his finger to make another point, Hutch was clearly caught off-guard. "Wanna run that by me again?"

"Poor people are poor because they never have any money. We have money, but we spend it all."

Hutch thought it over for a moment. "So we're not poor; we’re just stupid. Is that your point?"

Starsky frowned and squirmed in his seat. "Not exactly. My point is I don't like this any better than you do, but I know everything's going to work out okay. We'll just cut back like you said."

"You just don't get it, do you, Starsk?" Hutch sorted through the napkins until he found the one he wanted. Holding it up for Starsky to see, he asked, "You see the circled number? Know what that is? It's how much income we need each month just to pay the bills we have now." He scrambled for another napkin and held it up. "See this number? It's how much income we're gonna have. Notice how much larger the 'need' is than the 'have?'"

Starsky grabbed both napkins and scrutinized Hutch's calculations. He'd known they would have to cut back on expenses, but he'd had no idea their situation was quite so dire. "Savings?" he asked, hopefully.

Hutch shook his head and held up another napkin with a dismally low figure on it.

Starsky studied the numbers some more before he finally sighed in defeat. "What're we gonna do?"

"I don't know yet. Obviously, we need more cash." Hutch reached for yet another napkin. "One thing I can do is return a few things I've bought in the last couple of months -- things I never should have bought in the first place."

"The Japanese pruning shears?" Starsky fought back a grin.

"Yep. And that new leather jacket you talked me into buying."

"Damn. You look fine in that jacket, Hutch."

"Thanks, but my checkbook will look better with that two hundred dollars back in it. Besides, I've already got three leather jackets." Hutch sat back and looked at his partner expectantly.

"What?" Starsky feigned innocence but knew he'd failed when the corners of Hutch's mouth twitched.

"Aren't there some things you can return?"

Starsky shook his head earnestly. "I already wore my new jacket. Besides, it's only my second one."

"I'm not talking about the jacket. "

Starsky breathed a sigh of relief and thought about his other recent purchases. "I can't return the books. We read them already."

"I wasn't talking about the books, either." Hutch's raised eyebrows and steady gaze indicated he knew that Starsky knew just what Hutch thought should be returned.

Starsky swallowed hard. "Not my drill, Hutch. Don't make me take back my new drill. I didn't even get to use it yet."

"Isn't that the point, Starsk? You've had it a month and it's still in the box. How badly do you really need it if you haven't even used it?"

"But it's turbo-charged," Starsky whined.

Hutch raised his hands in surrender. "It's your money. If you'd rather have a turbo-charged drill you're not using than to have an extra hundred bucks in your checking account, that's your business."

Surprised at how easily his victory was won, Starsky relaxed.

"But..." Hutch leaned forward, arms resting on the table. Starsky groaned, realizing something far more serious than power tools was up next on Hutch's agenda.

"Even if we cut our expenses to the bare minimum, we still can't make it on the income we'll have coming in. If we can't cut our expenses, we have to increase our income. You know what that means..."

Starsky's mouth went dry. "You don't mean..."

"Sorry, partner. No way around it --"

"I'll take back the drill, Hutch, and the jacket. I'll even return the books. Except the one with the meatball stain."

"Too little, too late. It's time to face facts." Hutch threw the pen down on the table. "We're gonna have to get jobs."

Starsky slid lower in the booth and closed his eyes. "Terrific."

# # #

The music and laughter grew louder with the arrival of Huggy's Saturday night crowd, but the mood in the back booth remained somber as its occupants absorbed the impact of their predicament. Starsky remembered all too vividly a time before when the two of them had tried to find jobs outside the police force. Their only real offer was a career in the adult entertainment industry; the rest had been a dismal failure.

Finally, Starsky broke the silence. "Hutch? Last time..."

"Yeah, I was just thinking about that. Didn't do so well, did we?" Hutch offered a half-hearted smile. "I guess we don't have those so-called 'marketable skills.'"

"Guess not..." Starsky mumbled, staring down at the table. He hated feeling helpless like this. Hated feeling out of control. It reminded him too much of the not-so-distant past when his every move was determined by doctors or therapists...or Hutch. When Starsky had thought any more progress was hopeless, Hutch had been right there to make him see that where there was life, hope would soon follow. Hutch had never given up; he hadn't let Starsky give up either.

A tired sigh interrupted Starsky's thoughts. Looking across the table, seeing the lines of fatigue etched into Hutch’s face as he stared at the papers in front of him, Starsky couldn’t suppress a sigh of his own. Somehow he had to remind Hutch that, for them, hopeless didn't exist.

Starsky shifted forward in his seat so he could reach a hand under the table to squeeze Hutch’s knee. "Hey..."

As expected, Hutch looked up the instant Starsky touched him, and Starsky squeezed his knee again. "We don’t give up, right?"

Hutch looked down at the paper in his hand and smiled somewhat sheepishly, a faint blush tinting his cheeks. Finally, he nodded. "Right. Where do you want to start?"

Starsky leaned back and exhaled quietly. "Well, there's the obvious..."

"Which is?" Hutch prompted.

"We could be PIs. You know, hire out to one of the big firms."

"Yeah, we could, but we'd have to get licenses, and that would take a couple of months."

"Oh." Starsky's disappointment was short-lived. "Hey, why don’t we make a list of possibilities?” He picked up the pen and grabbed a blank napkin. "You know, jobs we’d like to have."

Hutch snapped his fingers. "We could brainstorm."

"We could do what?" Starsky asked. He was pleased to see Hutch growing more animated but had no clue what he was talking about.

"I read about it in 'Business Week.' It's a problem-solving method all the big companies are using."

"How’s it work?" Starsky began to grow doubtful. Hutch could come up with some off-the-wall ideas if he wasn't watched carefully.

"All the workers get together and everyone gives their ideas for solutions to the problem. One person writes down all the ideas, and at the end-"

Starsky pointed to the napkin in front of him. "They have a list of possibilities?"

"No, Starsk, no." Hutch leaned forward, excitement dancing in his eyes. "Infinite possibilities unlimited by budgets or headcount or cultural restraints. Anything goes. They can't even comment on the ideas until they're all out in the open. Then they go back and discuss what's on the list."

"So it *is* a list." Starsky sat back and crossed his arms, fighting the urge to smile. This was the fun part of living with Hutch.

"No! I mean, yes. It’s a list, but...here, let’s just do it." Hutch assumed control of the pen and napkin again. "I’ll go first."

Starsky craned his neck to see the napkin, mouthing the words as Hutch wrote them. "Security guards? Objection. I’m not gonna be a rent-a-cop."

Hutch rolled his eyes. "First, you’re not in court. Second, there's no discussion until after all the ideas are on the table. Your turn. What's a job you've always wanted?"

"Oh, that's easy. Shortstop for the Dodgers."

"Starsk—"

"You said no discussion until all the ideas are on the table."

"They need to at least be practical." Hutch began tapping the pen on the table.

Starsky reached out to still the tapping hand. "You said ‘anything goes.'"

"But, Starsk..." Hutch rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"What's up, gentlemen?" Huggy’s arrival with a new round of beer provided Starsky just the distraction he needed. He patted the bench and motioned for Huggy to join them.

As he slid into the seat next to Starsky, Huggy looked at the various napkins scattered about the table. "Y'all planning an invasion?"

"Sort of," Starsky answered. "We’ve decided to get other jobs until we're called back to duty, so we’re making a list--"

"Brainstorming," Hutch interjected.

"-of potential job opportunities," Starsky finished, ignoring Hutch.

"Ah, brainstorming." Huggy nodded. "'Business Week' had an article about that last month. Been thinking about employing the concept around here. What have y'all got so far?" Huggy held out his hand for the napkin, which Hutch handed over silently. He seemed puzzled and slightly alarmed that he and Huggy were reading the same magazines.

After glancing at the two entries on the list, Huggy looked at Starsky. "I think one of you is not taking this seriously."

"Thank you!" Hutch said to Huggy, reaching across the table to shake his hand. "Thank you." Turning to Starsky, he half pleaded, "Now will you take shortstop off the list?"

Starsky sipped his beer, a smile once again tugging at the corner of his mouth. He hadn’t managed to put Hutch in a good mood, but at least the doomsday persona was put to rest for a while. Giving himself a mental pat on the back, he shrugged and said, "Okay. I'll take it off. But I'm telling you right now I'm not gonna be a rent-a-cop."

With a slight shake of his head, Hutch crossed both entries from the list. "Now we're back to square one."

Huggy took the pen from Hutch. "Why don’t I serve as the moderator while you two come up with suggestions? Who wants to go first?" He looked from one to the other but was met with blank stares. "C'mon, fellas. You gotta have some ideas."

Starsky shifted in his seat. "Thing is, Hug, we're not overloaded with...what was it, Hutch?"

"Marketable skills," Hutch muttered.

"Yeah, we're cops. We don't have any marketable skills."

Huggy was undeterred. "But you gotta have *some* skills, right? Tell you what: why don't we start with a list of the things you guys can do? Who wants to go first?"

After a long pause, Hutch finally mumbled, "We know how to use guns."

"Firearms Experience. Good!" Huggy wrote Hutch's entry at the top of the new list and turned to Starsky. "What about you?"

"We can find people who don't want to be found," Starsky offered.

"Gets Results. Another good one. Blondie?"

Hutch thought for a minute. "We can usually tell when people are lying."

Huggy nodded. "People Skills. We're on a roll now. Starsk?"

"We can run fast."

Huggy nodded again, "Physically Fit. I like that. Hutch?"

After thinking for a minute, Hutch shrugged. "That's about it." He looked at Starsky. "You got anything else?"

Starsky shook his head. "No, that about covers it."

Huggy stroked his chin while he considered the short list of offerings. "Starsk, you're not going to like this, but I think Hutch might have been on to something with the security guard idea."

Starsky began shaking his head before Huggy even finished speaking. "Told ya before: I'm not gonna be a rent-a-cop."

"God, you're so stubborn. What have you got against security guards?" Hutch demanded.

"Shitty uniforms. Ugly shoes. Boring work. That enough?" Starsky plunked his mug back down on the table. "Besides, I worked my ass off getting out of uniform; I'll be damned if I'm going back in one without a fight."

"Okay, okay," Hutch said. "We'll think of something else. We always do." Starsky smiled and relaxed as Hutch's leg pressed into his under the table.

"Maybe I can help," Huggy offered, sliding out of the booth. "I'll let you know if I hear of any openings." With a wave, he wandered off to the bar.

"Thanks, Hug," Starsky called, before turning his attention back to the table. Hutch was studying his so-called action plan again but without his earlier intensity. "Hey, you." He reached out to tap the back of Hutch's hand.

Hutch's finely tuned 'who-me?' look was comical and made Starsky want to smile in spite of his concern. "Yes, you. Look, I'm not sure how you turned a temporary layoff into a major financial meltdown in a single day, but you did." He held up his hand to ward off Hutch's argument. "I agree we might be looking at some hard times over the next few months, but I also know we can figure out a way through them if we stay on the same page. And the only way we can stay on the same page is if you slow it down a bit. Maybe just take a few days to let things settle. Okay?"

Hutch looked back down at the lists he held in each hand and slowly nodded, letting the napkins fall to the table.

"Okay. That's better. We'll figure it out, Hutch." It was Starsky's turn to apply a gentle nudge to Hutch's leg. The pressure was soon returned, and they sat quietly for a few minutes enjoying the simple pleasure of it. Finally, Starsky leaned forward, motioning for Hutch to do the same.

"Wanna go home and do something that won't affect our cash flow?"

Hutch snickered and, to Starsky's delight, a blush spread across his cheeks. Starsky started to slide out of the booth, but Hutch's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Not so fast. We've got something else we need to talk about." Apparently recovered from the effects of Starsky's suggestion, Hutch's expression grew sterner by the second.

Starsky peered at Hutch nervously. "Uh-oh. It's that hair club thing, isn't it? I said I was sorry."

"I'll get you back; you know that, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"Good, so long as we're clear on that." Hutch stood up. "Aren't we supposed to be on our way home?" He leaned over the table and lowered his voice. "I'm allegedly having sex tonight, and I'll enjoy it a lot more if you're there." With that, he turned and walked toward the door leaving Starsky to hastily collect the scattered napkins and follow him.

# # #

It started with a general ache, not enough to wake him, yet bothersome enough to cause him to groan and stir in his sleep. He tossed and turned until the pain intensified to the point that it felt as though his entire abdomen was aflame. Finally coming fully awake, he sat up and looked over to make sure he hadn't disturbed Hutch, only to find there was no Hutch. Starsky groaned again, not so much from the pain in his stomach as the certain knowledge that Hutch was somewhere in the front part of the house and would see him get up for the antacid. Not in the mood for an 'I told you so,' he decided to try outwaiting both the pain and Hutch. The bedside clock read 1:03; surely Hutch would come back to bed soon. Starsky punched the pillow into an acceptable shape and flopped back onto it. As sleep continued to elude him, his thoughts drifted back over the day.

Most of Sunday had been spent on general domestic chores. In an attempt to remain in Hutch's good graces, Starsky had even washed his partner's sad excuse for a car. The gesture must have worked because Hutch had agreed to cook dinner. While chicken casserole wasn't Starsky's idea of a great dinner, he was touched by the effort Hutch put into it. Starsky's half of the casserole had been laden with hot peppers, just the way he liked, while Hutch had prepared a much milder version for himself.

Starsky groaned again, regretting having eaten so much. Glad I didn't eat the rest of those peppers for dessert, he thought. I'd probably be having my stomach pumped. He flipped onto his side and absent-mindedly smoothed the sheets on Hutch's side of the bed.

All day long it had been obvious to Starsky that Hutch was trying hard not to worry, laughing and joking around in an imitation of any other Sunday, but that evening, after studying the job listings in the Sunday paper and finding them lacking, Hutch became restless and punchy. By the time he had disappeared into the back of the house, Starsky had been relieved to see him go.

Another sharp pain forced Starsky from the bed. Maybe he'd get lucky and Hutch would be asleep on the sofa.

Padding down the hallway, Starsky stopped outside Hutch's 'study,' his term for the spare room he'd claimed for himself when they moved in. Enough light shone through the window that he could see the room was empty. Damn. Starsky padded quietly through the living room and was disappointed to find the sofa vacant. Double damn. A light glowing from beneath the kitchen door told him where he'd find his missing bedmate.

Starsky pushed open the kitchen door and found Hutch sitting at the kitchen table, scribbling on a sheet of notebook paper. Sneaking a peek in passing, he was relieved to see that Hutch was merely sketching the basket of peppers that sat in the middle of the table and *not* developing another action plan. It wasn't a bad drawing at all, and normally Starsky would have stopped to comment on it, but not with the burning pain radiating through his belly. He yanked open a cabinet and stared in dismay at the empty spot where the antacid should be.

"You looking for this?" The voice behind him dripped sarcasm.

Starsky turned to find Hutch holding up the bottle of antacid. "Yes, Leonardo da Wiseass, that's what I'm looking for." Starsky snatched the bottle from Hutch's hand and twisted the top off. "You could've had a spoon out for me."

Hutch snickered. "I figured you'd just chug it straight from the bottle like you do when I'm not in the room."

Starsky ignored the taunt and turned to the sink, where he did indeed chug a healthy dose straight from the bottle. Although it tasted awful, it felt like liquid silk as it made its way to his stomach. He stood perfectly still for a moment, savoring the sensation.

"You okay?" The voice behind him was more properly concerned now.

After hurriedly swiping his hand across his mouth, Starsky turned around. "Yeah, just what I needed." He pushed himself up on the counter and took another sip from the bottle.

For a few minutes, all was quiet. Hutch returned to his sketch, Starsky perfectly content to watch him. Hutch so rarely sketched or painted anymore that Starsky had forgotten how even something as simple as a basket of peppers scratched out with a ballpoint pen could come to life in Hutch's hands. In this sketch, he had even caught the sheen of oil that coated the sweating peppers. Looking at the drawing reminded Starsky of his stomach, and he took another swig from the bottle.

"You ever gonna tell me what's wrong?" Starsky prodded.

Hutch looked up, as if surprised, and then shrugged. "Nothing's wrong."

Starsky allowed almost a full minute to pass before breaking the silence again. "The way I see it we can let this play out like it usually does or we can try something new. You up for something new?"

"How do I know if I'm up for it? I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do. See, here's how it goes if we do it the old way: I ask you what's wrong and you say 'nothing.' That's round one. But because I know that's a bullshit answer, I'll ask you what's wrong again and you'll say 'nothing' again, only this time you'll add a 'dammit' to it for good measure. We'll go back and forth like that a few times until you finally blow a gasket and start yelling about all the 'nothing' that's got you so uptight. And with language these delicate ears are not accustomed to hearing, I might add."

"First, there is nothing delicate about any part of your body, least of all your fat ears. Second, I can't very well yell at you because there's nothing to yell about."

"You always sit in the kitchen in your underwear in the middle of the night?" Starsky took another small sip of antacid before capping and storing the bottle in the cabinet, using the movement to camouflage the grin that emerged as he watched Hutch fight his instinct to raise his voice. When Hutch slowly closed his eyes and shook his head, Starsky knew it was only

a matter of time before he'd have the whole story. Or at least part of it.

"What's this new thing?" Hutch mumbled, looking every bit like a child presented with a new leafy green vegetable to try.

Starsky breathed a sigh of relief. All he needed was to get Hutch started. "Let's try this: just one word. Tell me what you're feeling with just one word."

"I feel nothing, Starsk. There. Now can we please just drop it?"

"Nope. One word."

Long seconds ticked off the kitchen clock before Hutch answered. "Numb."

"Numb? Like tingly?"

"No, numb like fuzzy. Shadowy. Out of focus."

"Keep going."

"I gave you a word. More than one."

"And it was a good word, too, Hutch. So were the others. Think you can chain some more together so we can have an actual discussion about it?" Starsky gave Hutch his hopeful look, the exaggerated one he usually reserved for pleading his case in choosing a restaurant or movie.

For once it worked. Hutch smiled sheepishly. "Okay, you win. We'll talk."

"Okay. What's with the numb fuzzies?"

Hutch shrugged. "I don't know. Everything's so up in the air right now, so uncertain." Hutch waved his hand in the air. "I don't like it."

"That's obvious. What is it you need to know?"

An answer almost escaped before Hutch clamped down on it. He picked up the pen again and began tracing over the outer edges of his sketch. Starsky suspected the true answer had just been squelched, but he listened patiently when Hutch started talking again.

"Well, for starters, I'd like to know we're going to have a roof over our heads in a few months."

"Dummy, of course--" Memories of a time long past crowded into Starsky's thoughts. It had been one of those cold, rainy nights the Chamber of Commerce didn't mention in its brochure. Hearing a commotion outside his apartment, he had opened the door to find a half-drunk and shivering Hutch on his front steps.

After plying Hutch with a fair amount of brandy to chase away the chills, Starsky had listened to Hutch stammer through the events that had brought him there. Vanessa had--through some sort of trickery--managed to get a second mortgage on their small home. Where the money had gone, Hutch didn't know. He had tried to keep up with two mortgages but couldn't do it on his salary. Earlier that day Hutch had called Van from the office to break the news that the bank was taking the house. By the time he arrived home that evening, all that was left was a closet half-filled with his clothes. The bitch had even taken Hutch's guitar.

When Hutch had finally succumbed to the numbing effects of the alcohol and fallen into a fitful sleep, Starsky had covered him with a blanket and sat vigil through most of the night while Hutch tossed and turned. In the wee hours of the morning, Hutch's eyes had drifted open and he mumbled, "I lost it all, didn't I?" And then Starsky held him until he cried himself to sleep again.

"Is it your stomach?"

"Wha--" Starsky jumped and blinked, as if surprised to find himself sitting in the kitchen.

"Your stomach. Is it still hurting? You looked...I don't know, something."

"Um, no, it's better." Starsky cleared his throat of a lump he hadn't realized was there. "I was thinking--"

"Want me to call a press conference?" Hutch laughed at his own joke.

"Very funny, very funny." Starsky slid off the counter and crossed the kitchen to sit at the table with Hutch, who had resumed working on his sketch. "Hutch, I can't-- hey, I'm about to say something profound. Wanna look at me while I say it?"

With the hint of a smile, Hutch put down his pen and propped his chin in his hand. "Ready."

"Okay, that's more like it." Starsky took Hutch's free hand in both of his. "Look, I'm not Collandra. I can't predict the future. I don't know any more than you do what's going to happen with the Department. But I can promise you this, Hutch. We will have a home. Might not be this one, but we will have a place to call home."

"Ah, Starsk, as much as I appreciate it, you can't promise that. Do you remember--"

Starsky tightened his grip as Hutch tried to pull his hand away. "I remember, and that's why I can make you the promise. I'm not going anywhere, and we will have a place to be together. Got that? We are going to get through this together."

As Starsky's words sank in, Hutch smiled. "Wither thou goest, huh?"

"Something like that, yeah. But you tell anybody I said it like *that*, I'll slug you."

Just when it seemed Hutch might finally relax and Starsky thought they were on safe ground again, he saw the tell-tale crease on Hutch's brow deepen. Seconds later, the hand he held tried to pull away again.

"That's nice, Starsk, and I want to believe I'll get through it without losing everything, but...." Hutch shook his head tiredly.

"But you won't let yourself. And you're not going through it alone, Hutch. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. No one's stopping you from believing that but you."

Hutch rested his forehead in the palm of his hand. "I just keep remembering how I lost--"

"Okay, I understand that. But if you can't believe in you, will you at least believe in me?"

Hutch's head snapped up then, his face losing the little color it had held as his eyes lost their focus and he retreated to someplace inside himself. Starsky had seen that look dozens of times over the years, but it never failed to remind him of a rainy night in the backroom of an Italian restaurant. The stakes had been a lot higher that night. Hutch had been desperate, trying to come up with *something* to get them out of there alive. Though he could barely keep his eyes open, Starsky had watched his partner reach down somewhere deep inside himself that night to find the strength he needed. Now fighting an enemy from within, Hutch would need a different kind of strength, and Starsky had no doubt he'd find it. Hutch had never failed him, never when it counted.

"I do believe in you. Always have, always will." It was hardly more than a whisper choked out on a tidal wave of emotion, but it echoed around the room and straight into Starsky's heart. He wasn't sure who moved first. Maybe he heard the scrape of Hutch's chair, maybe he twitched some minor muscle that telegraphed his need, but before he knew it he was around the table and wrapped in the strength of Hutch's arms.

Interminable minutes ticked off the kitchen clock and when Hutch finally broke the embrace to look at Starsky, his eyes were wide and suspiciously bright. "I believe in you more than I've ever believed in anyone else in my life."

"I know that. I believe in you, too." Starsky was surprised to find his voice had gone gravelly. He skimmed his hand up Hutch's arm to cup the back of his neck. "Make a deal with you. Until you're ready, Hutch? I'll believe in you enough for both of us."

Starsky only thought Hutch's arms had held him tightly. Now, they threatened to cut off his ability to breathe, but as Hutch tightened his embrace and buried his face in Starsky's shoulder, Starsky decided breathing was something he could do without just to stay in this moment when it felt as if they were the only two people on the planet. As the steel bands encircling his body began to ease their grip, Starsky tightened *his* arms, moving the hand on Hutch's neck up into his hair, fingering the ends of the silky strands. The moment lingered on.

Finally, Hutch shifted his stance and mumbled into Starsky's ear. "If you're thinking about a repeat of the Hair Club remark, now would *not* be a good time."

Starsky smiled and gently backed Hutch towards his chair, pushing him down and then following him to sit astride his thighs. "I love your hair and everything under it." Starsky raked his fingers through Hutch's hair, lingering at his temple before leaning forward to place a kiss there. "Now, you got anything else you want to talk about?"

"No, I think that's enough." Hutch's reply was quiet, but firm.

"You feeling better?"

"Right now I don't know how I feel." Hutch looked exhausted and more than a little lost.

Watching him, Starsky's eyes took on a mischievous glint. "Okay. Well, why don't we make sure you're over that 'numb' thing?" He pulled a pepper from the basket and popped it into his mouth, laughing and almost choking at the horrified expression on Hutch's face. He pulled the pepper slowly back across his lips, running it back and forth as if applying lipstick. Then he leaned forward, and kissed Hutch lightly on the lips.

"What was all that--? Oh, never mind. I get it." Hutch smiled and reached up to touch lips Starsky knew were now tingling from the chili oil. "Do that again."

Starsky kissed him again, and Hutch returned it with enthusiasm. "Mmm," he murmured, raising both hands to hold Starsky's head in place.

After allowing Hutch to hold the kiss for a few minutes, Starsky retreated to apply more chili oil before moving to Hutch's neck. Finally, his lips found Hutch's smooth chest and he smiled through his kisses as his lover shifted in the chair. "Shit."

"Still feeling numb?" Starsky mumbled from the vicinity of Hutch's navel.

"Bastard," Hutch growled, squeezing the back of Starsky's neck and squirming again as the kisses moved back up his torso. "Do me."

"I'm trying to do you; be patient," Starsky murmured.

"No, I mean put some of that stuff on my lips."

Starsky reluctantly pulled away from attending to his favorite spot on Hutch's neck and grinned. He reached for another pepper and gently rubbed it on Hutch's lips.

Hutch went for his earlobe and almost immediately Starsky felt the icy tingling of the pepper oil as it spread its contradictory sensations through his body. He groaned as Hutch moved downward, leaving in his wake kisses that felt like tiny drops of lava. Starsky squirmed in Hutch's lap and wasn't surprised to feel a rapidly swelling bulge where one had not existed before.

"I think we're headed for some really hard times here, Hutch. Wanna move this to some place more comfortable?" Starsky asked, his own desire becoming more obvious as well.

"It's two in the morning, Starsk."

Starsky reluctantly pulled away from the luxury of Hutch's lips. "Um, I hate to bring up a touchy subject, but it's not like we have anywhere to be in the morning." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and grinned. "Care to take advantage of one of life's little silver linings?"

Not even bothering to answer, Hutch stood up abruptly and began half-dragging Starsky out of the room.

"I'll take that as a yes." Starsky laughed, snapping off the light as he was pulled through the door.

Halfway to the bedroom, Hutch stopped and rushed back into the kitchen, returning a split second later clutching the basket of peppers. "In case of a relapse," he said guilelessly as he passed Starsky in the hallway.

"Get in there..." Starsky pushed Hutch ahead of him into the bedroom, laughing at his partner's antics. They might be facing a near future of hard times but if he could keep Hutch focused in the right direction, they would make it through without killing each other. With any luck, they might even be able to turn this into a fun summer vacation after all.

  


The End


End file.
